A House Is Not a Home (21 page)

Raheim shook his head in admiration. “Wow, son. I'm proud of you. There aren't many young bruthas like you out here takin' a vow like that.”

“Thanks. But I think there are. It's just that the ones having sex get all the press. I know bruthas at Tech who are virgins—and some of them try to convince everybody they do it all the time.”

“How can you tell they're lyin'?”

“Not only are there not enough hours in a day for them to do it as much as they say they do, they haven't been alive long enough to have experienced all they say they have. But enough about
my
sex life: let's talk about
yours
.”

Raheim did a double take. “Pardon me?”

“Come on, Dad. I know you and what's-his-name broke up.”

What's-his-name.
Errol had never called Simon that to his face, but whenever he talked to Raheim about him, it was always . . . “How is
what's-his-name
?” “You out with
what's-his-name
?” “Is
what's-his-name
there?” “Grandma said you and
what's-his-name
came by the restaurant the other day.” Raheim always figured that he refused to speak Simon's name because he'd have to accept Raheim's not being with Mitchell anymore.

“How did you find out?”
Like I don't know . . .

“Grandpa.”

Of course.
“I guess jood news travels fast.”

“
Is
it jood news?”

“It probably is for you.”

“Why would it be jood news for me?”

“I thought you never liked Simon.”

“That's not true.”

“It's not?”

“It's not that I didn't like
him.
I didn't like him for
you.
”

Of course.
“Well, we were . . . we couldn't . . . I . . . he . . .”

“You don't have to explain what happened. How have you been handling it?”

“It's been . . . kinda rough. I . . . still care for him. Hmmph, this is kinda weird.”

“What is?”

“Talkin' to my son about breakin' up with my . . . friend.” Raheim still hadn't come up with the right word to describe the men in his life.

“Ha, you were much more than
friends
!” Errol corrected him.

They laughed again. It was like music.

“Are you
still
friends?”

“Just bein' friends right now . . . that would be difficult.”

Errol contemplated his next question; it was as if he was afraid what the answer would be. “Are you dating?”

“No.”

Errol wasn't doing it on the outside, but Raheim knew he was smiling on the inside.

“Uh, thanks for askin', son. I appreciate that.”

Errol nodded. “You're welcome.”

“Well, I'll let you finish gettin' ready.” Raheim rose to leave.

“Oh, don't forget these.” Errol went over to his desk and took something off the printer. He handed them to his father. They were copies of the pictures Sidney snapped: Errol and his father before the party began and Raheim with Mitchell as things were winding down.

Raheim grinned. “Wow. These are beautiful.” He recalled Max's reaction, learning he was Errol's father. “We
could
be brothers.”

“Yeah.” Errol play punched him in the right arm. “But
you
would be the
older
one.”

They laughed again. This time it was lighter but just as lovely.

Raheim trudged into the kitchen, where Mitchell was wrapping up leftovers.

“So?” Mitchell queried.

Raheim filled him in.

“Well . . .”
Mitchell mused. “Your son never ceases to impress me.”

“Listenin' to him, it's hard to believe he
is
my son.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's like I'm lookin' in a mirror, sixteen years ago. But he's doing everything I didn't do. Graduatin' from high school. Goin' to college.
Stayin
' a virgin. I guess he's really learned from my mistakes.”

“
Your
mistakes? You think he's pursuing his own life according to how you haven't lived yours? He's doing everything you would want him to do. Besides, if
you
had stayed a virgin,
he
wouldn't be here.”

Raheim sighed. “Yeah.”

Mitchell noticed the printouts in his hand; he reached for them. “You two
could
be twins”—he looked up at him—“if it weren't for that single gray hair.”

They laughed.

When Sidney and Monroe returned around midnight, Raheim offered to drive them to Monroe's house—which was only three blocks away. They accepted—Errol, so he could spend a little more time with his dad; Sidney, to continue their discussion about Raheim's being on one of his favorite shows,
Forensic Files;
and Monroe, so he could finally say he rode in a Benz (a 1991 model, it's the only piece of property Raheim owns; the fact that he got the car at a police auction last year for $6,300 when his own car was repossessed was not lost on him). Raheim unlocked the doors as they were all walking out of the gate.

“Raheim?” Mitchell called.

Raheim turned. “Yeah?”

Mitchell stepped out of the doorway. “Uh . . . my mother and Anderson will be coming over for dinner tomorrow. They'll be bringing Destiny home. I . . . I know Destiny would love to see you.”

Raheim didn't think about it for a second. “What time?”

“Say, four o'clock?”

“Should I bring somethin'?”

“No.”

“A'ight. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Jood. Have a jood night.”

“You, too.”

“H
ello?”

“Mornin', Mitch.”

“'Chelle?” It was Michelle Snipes, Mitchell's former coworker at
Your World
magazine. Mitchell looked at the clock above the top oven: 11:05
A.M.
“What are you doin' up this early on a Sunday?”

“I know, right? Chile, I'd usually be rollin' over about now. The only thing that could get me out of bed this early is a patient. I had an emergency root canal.” She had realized her dream of becoming a dentist in 2000 and has had her own practice in Los Angeles the past two years.

“He or she must've been in a lot of pain if they couldn't wait until Monday morning.”

“Uh-huh, and their pain was my pleasure.”

“But of course. Who was it?”

“Now, you know I can't reveal that information . . .” She's managed to rope a few celebrity clients, but won't disclose their names. She will, however, give him clues, like . . . “They were in
Ocean's 11
,” “They just won a Daytime Emmy,” “They were recently arrested for drunk driving,” or “They just got out of rehab” (given where she was, the latter two could be almost anybody).

Today's hint: “They were on
Three's Company.
”

“Well, it can't be Suzanne Somers—her teeth are as straight and blond as her hair,” Mitchell argued. “Are you still in the office?”

“Yeah. I'm 'bout to leave, get myself some breakfast. I'm sure you must be about done eating yours. I hear Mrs. Karen Clark-Sheard in the background.”

“I haven't even started it and probably won't. I've been so busy with Sunday dinner.”

“Oh? What's on the menu?”

“A turkey with stuffing, a ham, greens, peas and rice, baked macaroni and cheese, candied yams, corn bread, and chocolate cake for dessert.”

“
Damn
. What are you
not
cookin'? Isn't smothered chicken your usual second Sunday—
uh-huh
.”

“What?”

“You
finally
invited him to dinner.”

He inhaled. “Yes.”

“Hallelujah!”
she shouted. “There could only be one reason why you'd be slavin' in that Emeril kitchen. I take it things went very
jood
last night?”

“Yeah. The party went off without a hitch.”

“I wasn't talkin' about the party. Is he still asleep, or standing just a few feet away?”

“He's not here. He didn't spend the night.”

“Ah. How long you been up cookin'?”

“Since five.”

“Oooh,” she purred. “He musta put some spell on you for you to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for two.”

As it turns out, Raheim
did
put a spell on him. It wasn't seeing him for the first time in almost six months (Raheim attended Destiny's birthday party last December), but Raheim's aroma that worked some magic. It's a natural scent Raheim exudes that is . . .
hypnotic
. It actually turned Mitchell off during the years they became estranged, and he never noticed it after their breakup. He also didn't remember smelling it last year. But last
night
? It was so intoxicating that Mitchell made up that excuse about Destiny so he could invite Raheim back and
breathe
him in some more.

Mitchell didn't admit this to Michelle, though; he was embarrassed (yet tickled) by his reaction. “No, my mother, stepfather, and Destiny will be here. And Errol, depending on what time he comes back.”

“So you're gonna let your mom and Destiny do the interrogation.
Jood
plan. And since you brought up my future husband: Did E. enjoy himself?”

“He had a ball. Those girls just couldn't get enough of him.”

“I can understand why.”

“But one young lady had his attention for most of the evening. She goes to NYU.”

“Ah, my alma mater. And how old is she?”

“Nineteen.”

“See: he
does
have a thing for older women.”

“Yes, older women, not
old
women.” He snickered.

“Don't get it twisted, okay? Three more years and he is
mine
. We can have a double wedding; I'll be marrying the son and you, the father.”

“Maybe you should set your sights on the
grand
father.”

“Ain't he like fifty years old? I don't want a man who carries a senior citizens' discount card. You gotta get 'em
before
they get set in their ways. I'd be spending half the time frustrated over stuff he couldn't change if he wanted to, and the other half fighting with him over things he can but won't.”

“Don't you know you're supposed to accept folks just the way they are?”

“Where you hear that, in a song? I got another one for ya: Like Anita, I don't believe in fairy tales. Forget the shining armor; just give me the knight!”

They laughed.

“And what time are you expecting
your
knight?”

“Four o'clock.”

“Well, have a jood time. And have an even
jooder
time after the kids are put to bed.”

“He can't spend the night.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's way too early to be even thinking about something like that.”

“My dear, you two have a very long history of
doing
something like that.”

“Yes, we do, but it's a history. Besides, I've never had a man spend the night with the kids in the house.”

“There's a first time for everything. Besides, he ain't a stranger.”

“Still . . . I don't know if Destiny is old enough to shoulder something like this.”

“Ha, now you sound like one of those Concerned Caucasian Women for America.
Puh-leeze
. You don't think Destiny knows her father is in love with her uncle Raheim? It's written all over your face whenever you talk about him. And Raheim the Third ain't gonna be bothered. You think it's a coincidence that he decided to have his
first
birthday party in five years at his godfather's house and asked his father—
not
his mother,
not
his stepfather,
not
his grandfather—to help chaperon? They'd be surprised if he
didn't
spend the night.”

“Before we even think of going there . . . a lot has to be said. And a lot has to happen.”

“Well, you can play it safe; just know you don't have to. You two were meant to be—and will be again. Even Miss Cleo could predict that!”

“O
kay. What about this?”

It was two o'clock and Raheim was
still
trying on outfits. Unsatisfied with anything in his own closet, he was now going through his father's.

And, as he had done in his son's room, the elder Rivers stood back, amused by the whole spectacle. “It looks jood,” he said for the tenth time.

“Just jood?”

“
Just
jood?”

“Yeah. Just jood ain't jood enough, Pop.”

“It ain't?”

“Nah. I wanna look better than jood.”

He chuckled. “Son, everything you tried on in the past hour has been better-than-jood.”

“You just sayin' that.”

“No, I'm not. You think I'd let you walk out of this house lookin' wrecked?”

Raheim eyed something in his father's closet. He pulled it out. He held it up. “What about this?”

“My blue suit? Don't you think that'll be a little too dressy? You're not meeting with the president of Paramount Pictures. It's just dinner.”

“It ain't just dinner, Pop.”

“It ain't?”

“Nah. This is . . . it's different.”

“How?”

“It . . . it just is. The way he asked me. The look in his eyes.”
And the way he used Destiny as a security blanket, the way I used to with Li'l Brotha Man. . . .

His father shrugged. “Okay.”

“You don't believe me?”

“I
do
believe you. I can tell by the look in
your
eyes that you heard what you heard and saw what you saw. And I know you're excited—you woke me up early this mornin' singin' that song, over and over and
over
again. You ain't Gladys
or
a Pip.”